What Goes Around, Comes Around
by travln1
Summary: What would the staff at PPTH do without the infamous Greg House? Character death, some season 4 spoilers. A little Cuddy/Wilson.
1. Chapter 1

"House. HOUSE!" Cuddy shook House by the shoulders, desperately trying to wake him, "Dammit House, wake up." He lay on a table inside one of the clinic's exam rooms, cane haphazardly thrown on the floor, one arm on his chest and the other hanging off the table.

"House? What the hell did you take?" Cuddy looked at him with concern, turned on her heel and headed towards the door, just as Wilson entered the lobby on his way back from a late morning dentist appointment.

He approached a clearly distraught Cuddy, "What's going on?"

"It's House. I can't wake him, he must have taken something. He's passed out in the exam room, we probably need to administer charcoal, pump his stomach, run a tox screen, I have no idea what he could have taken." Wilson looked at Cuddy with a furrowed brow and then ran towards the exam room, while Cuddy shouted orders to the nurses.

Wilson opened the door and stared at his friend for a moment before approaching his bedside. He shook House but to no avail. He then took out his penlight and checked his pupil reflexes, sighed and stood back from the table.

Cuddy watched Wilson from the doorway, covered her mouth with her hand and gasped, "Oh my god, is he," she shook her head in stunned silence, "Is he dead?"

"House get up." Wilson said angrily.

Cuddy stared at Wilson, then at House with obvious confusion, "You mean he's…"

Wilson looked at Cuddy, "Faking."

"Faking?"

"Get up and do your job House." Frustration could be heard in Wilson's voice, yet he was still concerned and placed a hand on House's forehead. Cuddy walked briskly over to the exam room table and slapped House on his arm with considerable force.

"Owww, that hurt." House said as opened his eyes and grabbed his arm.

"It was meant to. How could you do that?" Cuddy hit him again.

"Ok, I'm going to file battery charges. I think I'm coming down with the flu, I came in here to sleep off my headache. I wasn't faking death, I was trying to sleep and hoped you would just go away."

Cuddy glared at him, "Sometimes I think it would be easier if you really were gone."

"That's harsh." House smirked.

"Take some aspirin, you're running a fever." Wilson said.

"And then do your job or you're fired. You're not sick enough to go home." Cuddy's tone did not change, she was frustrated and angry with House, flu or not.

"So glad to know you care, boss." He said as he swung his legs off the edge of the exam table. House stood and walked out of the room.

Wilson walked Cuddy to her office and shut the door behind them. "He's absolutely incorrigible." She said with a sigh as she sat behind her desk. Wilson nodded his head.

"He actually was running a slight fever."

"Sick or not, he shouldn't have scared us like that." She shook her head and admitted, "He was pale."

"I noticed that too. Maybe you should send him home if he's coming down with the flu."

"I wouldn't want to give him the satisfaction."

Wilson smiled, "Are you ok?" He asked.

"My nerves are shot, I should have known. I should have checked his pupils, his pulse, something. I just assumed when he wouldn't wake up that he'd taken something and I went into panic mode."

"You care too much."

Cuddy looked up at Wilson, half smiling, "And what do you call running to his room as soon as you saw me?"

Wilson raised an eyebrow and nodded, "Touché."


	2. Chapter 2

House sat with his feet propped up on the chair in his office, eyes closed. "Go away," he said as Thirteen lightly knocked on the glass door.

"We have a patient."

"Are they dying?"

"Yes."

"Have Foreman run the differential."

"What's wrong with you?"

"Flu. I have a headache, my stomach's touchy. You better get out of this germ infested office before you catch it to."

"You're just trying to get rid of me."

House sighed as he looked up at her, "Seriously, get out." She glared at him and went back inside the conference room.

"Foreman." House said as he got up from the chair, "Foreman, start the differential. You can even write on the whiteboard." House walked into the conference room next to his office, sat down and clutched his left arm.

Foreman looked at him, "What's wrong with your arm?"

"A gang of thugs beat me up. It's fine, differential diagnosis, go."

Kutner presented the patient's symptoms as Foreman wrote them on the whiteboard. House put his hand to his stomach and closed his eyes briefly before standing up and exiting the room.

"Hey, where are you going?" Foreman asked.

"I have the flu. Do you mind if I try to make it to the bathroom before I puke all over the carpet?"

"You should go home House." Taub said, clearly disgusted, "The flu is most contagious during the initial onset."

"I have a medical degree, thanks. Cuddy denied my parole." And with that, House headed towards the men's room.

* * *

On his way back from the men's room, House stopped by Wilson's office. Without saying a word, he walked in, propped his leg up on the couch, brought his hand to his head, and massaged his temples.

"You look like hell." Wilson looked over at House.

"Thanks."

"How are you feeling?"

"Off."

"Off? That's nondescript."

"My stomach is queasy, I thought I was going to throw up, but nothing. I feel awful. No energy, just off."

"The flu is pretty nasty this year. You should go home." Wilson eyed his friend.

"You heard Cuddy."

"I'll talk to her for you."

"Thanks." House rose from the couch, grabbing his arm.

"You should ice that."

"Ya, man she can pack a punch. See you later." And House limped back to his own office, where he laid down on the floor, jacket under his head and closed his eyes.

* * *

"He's genuinely sick." Wilson again stood in Cuddy's office, looking at her as she stared down at the paperwork on her desk.

"Did he send you down here to be his mouthpiece?"

Wilson sighed, pausing for a moment, "He didn't ask me to come, I offered. He's got the flu, do you want him passing it around to everyone else? You can tell by his eyes that he's not feeling well, not to mention he's pale as a ghost. Oh and there's also the grapefruit sized bruise on his arm, courtesy of his boss."

"House is a big boy and can deal with a day at work when he's not feeling great. We all do it, except we don't stuff vicodin every few hours." Cuddy was clearly not over the scare House gave her earlier that morning. She felt badly that he was sick, but she couldn't help but punish him just a bit for the morning's events. Had he come to her and honestly said that he wasn't feeling well instead of feigning death, she wouldn't have had any issue sending him home. "Where is he now?" she asked.

"I don't know, he left my office an hour ago. There's only a few hours left in the day, his team is managing his patient just fine. Let him go home."

"I'll think about it." She said as Wilson headed towards the door.

* * *

Wilson headed back up to his office and ducked his head into House's office to see if he was there. House was curled up on the floor, holding his left arm. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, and though he appeared to be asleep, he was not.

"Why don't you come into my office and sleep on the couch?"

House opened his eyes, "Aren't you afraid of catching this flu?"

"Nope, I never get the flu."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Lucky you. It sucks."

Wilson extended a hand to help House up. House took it and slowly got up off of the floor. Just the act of getting up left him winded.

"You're all sweaty, you need to go home and get to bed."

"Ya."

Wilson picked up House's cane and handed it him, and the two men headed towards Wilson's office. House headed for the couch, gently curled up on it and again closed his eyes. Wilson sat at his desk and quietly worked on paperwork while at the same time keeping an eye on his friend.

"Can I catch a ride with you?" House asked quietly. "I don't think I have the energy to drive the bike home."

"Sure."

"Thanks. Why are you so good to me?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

"Must be my charming personality."

Wilson chuckled, "That or I was cursed at birth. Shut up House, I have paperwork to do." House closed his eyes again, while smiling.

Not five minutes had passed when a rather guilty looking Cuddy entered Wilson's office, "Where's Hou…" she stopped in mid sentence when she saw a clearly ill House lying on the couch, "Go home House, get better."

House opened his eyes to look up at her, "I'm waiting for Jimmy here to finish up. He's driving me home."

Cuddy looked at Wilson as Wilson nodded his head, "Fine, Wilson take him home. Go on." Wilson said nothing, but packed his paperwork into a briefcase and motioned for House to get up.

House sat up, holding his arm and took several deep breaths, trying to calm the fire stemming from his stomach.

"House?" Cuddy took a step towards him.

"Better grab a bag so I don't puke in your car." He said to Wilson.

House shakily stood up, still breathing heavily. He took a step forward and inhaled sharply. His cane fell to the floor as he grabbed his left arm. He staggered forward, just catching himself and he looked up at Wilson. House grasped the top buttons of his shirt, "It's not the flu," he said.

Wilson ran forward and caught House as he fell to the ground, breaking his fall. He looked up at Wilson with the look of abject fear in his blue eyes. He took two short breaths and said, "Heart," gasping between the words, "Attack."

"Call the code!" Wilson shouted, but Cuddy was already doing so.

"You have," House struggled with having no air and trying to talk, "to call Stacy."

Wilson tried to quiet House, shaking his head, "Shhh."

"She's," gasp, "Executor," House's eyes grew wide, "…will."

"We don't need your will, you'll be fine." But even as Wilson said it, House closed his eyes.

"House, House come on don't do this." Wilson looked at his friend as tears filled his eyes, "Oh my god, no." Wilson held House in his arms and looked up at Cuddy, who was on the phone shouting orders.

"Dammit," tears streamed down his face, "I can't find a pulse."

"No!" Cuddy ran to Wilson, grabbed House and placed him flat on the floor, tilting his chin upwards and began mouth to mouth.

Just as she started, Kutner and Taub rushed in, and passed the crash cart to Wilson, who charged the paddles, "Clear!" he shouted as he placed the paddles on House's chest. The shock resulted in nothing.

"Again! Charging. Clear." Wilson worked frantically. Again and again, Wilson shocked House.

Precious minutes ticked by and members of his team were now present. Thirteen stood in the doorway, mouth agape and Foreman was poised over House's head, squeezing the bag that was breathing for him. Taub had paged Cameron and Chase minutes earlier, and they too were now doing all they could to bring House back.

They worked on House for over half an hour. Foreman grabbed Wilson's hand as he shook his head, "He's gone Wilson. Time of death, 3:15pm."

Cuddy cradled House in her arms while slightly rocking back and forth, sobbing. Taub hung his head, a tearful Thirteen held Kutner as he wept the choking sobs of a young child into her shoulder. Foreman held his hand over his mouth as he sat on the edge of Wilson's desk, he stood in complete disbelief of all that he had just witnessed. Chase knelt in prayer, tears flowing freely as Cameron sat next to him and stared at her one time boss, hands shaking uncontrollably, seconds away from sobbing uncontrollably.

Wilson sat on his couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands, unable to utter a single sound. Fresh tears blanketed the now dried tears that stained his face. He lifted his head and stared at his own hands, hands that could not save his best friend. Greg House was dead, no faking, no feigning, no waking up to crack a snide remark or send a flying insult. Greg House was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Slowly they trickled out of Wilson's office, one by one until Wilson and Cuddy remained with House's body.

"What now?" Wilson said.

"I don't know." She replied.

"I'll call Stacy, he said she was the executor of his will."

"I'll take him," Cuddy inhaled, covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head, trying to keep the tears from falling again, "Down to the morgue."

Wilson stared silently at Cuddy for a moment, "Is this real? Did this just happen?"

Cuddy returned his gaze, "I told him I wished he was gone, I said it this morning." She shook her head again, "I didn't mean it, I never would have wished…"

Wilson put a hand on her shoulder, "You didn't do this. He had a heart attack, no one could have known."

"Yes, but I treated him so harshly this morning. I should have listened to him, I should have recognized the signs. His glassy eyes alone were a clue to how he was feeling. Maybe if I had sent him home, he would have…"

Wilson cut her off, "If you had sent him home, he would have died alone."

Cuddy started crying again, silently. Wilson stood up and gently lifted her by her elbows and hugged her, "We can't play the what if game. He's gone, beating ourselves up won't bring him back."

Cuddy looked up at Wilson, while still in his embrace, and saw the pain she too felt, "What are you going to do?"

Wilson looked down at her, tears forming in his eyes and he shook his head, afraid of losing his composure should he try and speak.

Cuddy placed her head on his shoulder and the two hugged each other in silence.

Cuddy sighed, stepped back from Wilson and said, "His parents need to be notified."

"I'll call them."

There was a knock on the door and both doctors looked up to see an orderly standing there with a gurney, "I'm here to take the body down to the morgue."

"I'll take care of it." Cuddy said.

"It's not standard procedure." The orderly said.

"I said I'll take care of him." The orderly looked skeptical, afraid of getting into trouble for not following protocol, "I'm the Dean of Medicine, I know the procedure. It's ok. If anyone has a problem with it, they can come speak to me." The orderly pursed his lips but seemed to agree, and then left the room.

Wilson helped Cuddy place the body onto the gurney, and both stood for a moment, staring at the man that was once House. He looked small, despite his feet nearly hanging off the edge of the gurney. His face etched with time and yet somehow, he appeared peaceful. Wilson took the edge of the sheet and pulled it up and over House's face.

"Give um' hell, House." He said.

Cuddy smiled briefly at his words, squeezed Wilson's hand in a gesture of friendship and wheeled the gurney towards the elevator. Wilson stood alone in his office, unsure of what to do and afraid to allow his mind to wander.

* * *

Cuddy arranged for the autopsy to be completed and then asked to be left alone with House's body in the morgue. She unzipped the body bag to reveal his face, gently touching the little bit of hair on his forehead. 

"Why did you have to go so soon?" she whispered, "You were the single most brilliant person I've ever met. Why didn't you take better care of yourself? It wasn't your time House, not today, not for a very long time."

She sighed deeply. The tears had stopped, as they often did when she'd lost someone close to her. She would cry uncontrollably at first and then the waterworks would just turn off, she was done, no more tears. At least not until the funeral, then there would be a few. Until then, she would be numb.

"I'm sorry for what I said this morning, I never wished you gone, not like this, not ever." She smiled to herself, "Maybe on a long vacation, or stuck in bad traffic, but never dead."

She used her thumb to trace his eyebrow, "I could have loved you, you know; if you had given me the chance. All you had to say was you cared. I know you did even if you would never admit it, but people need to hear it. You built up that wall so high, none of us could scale it. Maybe just see over the top of it once in a while. I'll miss you."

Cuddy zipped the body bag closed and pushed the metal table inside the morgue vault, locking House inside. She kissed her fingertips and touched the door to his vault, "Goodbye," she sighed.

* * *

"Hello Stacy?" 

"James, is that you?"

Wilson paused, trying to drum up the courage to tell Stacy all that had transpired earlier that afternoon. It still seemed like a distant dream, not quite believing it himself.

"James, is it Greg?"

"Yes."

Stacy paused briefly too, "He's gone, isn't he?"

"He passed this afternoon." Wilson could hear Stacy crying quietly on the other end of the line, "It was a heart attack, he…" Wilson had a hard time saying the next word, a word he had not yet uttered about his best friend, "…he died here in my office."

"Was he alone?"

"No, Cuddy and I were with him."

"I was so afraid he'd die alone. I'm glad you were there James."

Wilson teared up, "Me too."

"Thank you for calling to let me know. When will the funeral be?"

"I imagine this weekend, we haven't really thought that through yet. I still need to contact his parents."

"I can do that if you want me to."

"Thanks Stacy, I would appreciate it."

"Ok James, I'll talk to you later." He could tell that Stacy was anxious to hang up the phone, she was barely able to keep it together.

"Wait, Stacy?"

"Yes?"

"House's last words were that you were the executor of his will."

Wilson could hear a slight intake of breath and a long pause afterwards, "Stacy? Are you there?"

"I thought after all this time, he would have hired a new attorney to rewrite his will. It's been a long time since we last saw each other."

"You know House, he avoided paperwork at all costs."

"True." Stacy smiled, "I can stop by the hospital tomorrow, will that work?"

"Sure."

"Ok, see you then."

"Bye Stacy."

* * *

Wilson hung up the phone and stared at the cane that hadn't moved from where House dropped it. He picked it up and walked out onto his balcony. He looked over at House's office and tears welled up again. Wilson climbed over the wall, walked into House's office and sat down in his friend's chair. He placed the cane across the top of the desk and picked up the magic 8 ball, stared at it a moment and asked, "Did today actually happen?" and it read, "Concentrate and ask again." 

"Piece of junk," he said, placing it back on the desk. Wilson then picked up a record and placed it on the turntable, leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes.

House's old team walked in through the door. Cameron's face was blotchy and tear stained, she had clearly been crying since she left Wilson's office earlier. Chase was pale, and both he and Foreman looked weary from the day's events.

"He's really gone?" Cameron asked.

Wilson stood and walked over to her, held out his arms and they embraced, "I'm afraid so."

"I keep thinking I'll turn that corner and see him throwing the ball in the air." Chase said.

"We all do." Cuddy said from the doorway.

"You Ok?" Wilson asked.

"I've been better." Cuddy walked over to House's desk and stared at the cane that perched on top. She gingerly picked it up and held the arch of the cane in her hand.

"I saw a man downstairs with a cane and did a double take. I thought maybe this was all just a bad dream for just a second, but he turned around and it wasn't House." She said.

"How's the patient?" She asked Foreman.

"He died, about an hour after House. Brain aneurism."

Cuddy sighed and walked out to the conference room and stared at the whiteboard. Kutner, she guessed, had written, "We'll miss you House." Cuddy took the cane and hung it from the top of the whiteboard, just as she had seen House do countless times.

"Let's go." She said, "Tomorrow's a new day. Foreman, I'd like to meet with you first thing in the morning."

He nodded his head and the five of them took one last glance at the cane and headed home.

* * *

Wilson pulled the key out of his pocket, opened the door and stepped inside House's apartment. He closed the door behind him and half expected to hear House yell some sarcastic remark about not bugging him. He looked around the living room and sighed, fingering the piano as he walked past. He picked up the flying v guitar and smiled, reminiscing about the heist he tried to pull. He gently placed it in its holder. He walked over to the mantle and picked up an empty vicodin bottle, snapping the lid on with one hand. 

Wilson searched the apartment for all of House's prescriptions, he was sure House's parents would want to help pack things up and he didn't want them to know just how much vicodin House took. He thought House would want it that way. Wilson bagged all of the bottles he could find, and also grabbed the secret stash of morphine from the top of the book shelf.

He went into the kitchen, made himself a peanut butter sandwich and ate it standing up, and without even thinking twice about it, he washed the dishes in the sink. Wilson walked into House's bedroom, checked the jacket pockets in the closet for more vicodin and made the bed. He then made his way back to the living room, sat on the couch, put his feet up and sipped a glass of cognac. He turned the television on and stared at the bag of pills. He held one of the bottles up and read the label, "Patient: Greg House, Physician: Dr. J. Wilson." Opening the bottle, he then tipped a single vicodin out and swallowed it down with the cognac. Within twenty minutes, Wilson was feeling quite numb, both in body and mind. He was asleep not long afterwards.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Early the next morning, Wilson woke up with a headache. He picked up the bag of vicodin and his glass of cognac and headed towards the kitchen. He rinsed out his glass, set it on the counter and picked up the bag of pills. He shook his head, not knowing why he was even considering taking another vicodin, but he wanted one. He wanted to be numb.

Opening the bag, he took out one of bottles, popped off the lid and swallowed one pill dry. Instantly he gagged. He filled his glass with water and washed the pill down. He shook his head, wondering how House could have dry swallowed his pills as often as he had. He washed the glass, grabbed the bag of pills and headed home for a quick change before going to work.

* * *

"Doctor Cuddy?" Foreman lightly knocked on her door. 

"Hi, come in." Cuddy's eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles beneath them, she looked tired. It was clear to Foreman that she had been up most of the night. He himself had a hard time sleeping that night, hoping that yesterday was all a sick nightmare. Seeing Cuddy confirmed that he was indeed awake and not dreaming. He took a seat.

"Now that House is," she nodded her head and couldn't quite bring herself to say the word, "Well, I'd like to offer you the head of diagnostics position. Your team would remain the same. I understand if you would like some time to think about it."

Foreman knew this would be what the morning's meeting would be about and he had considered the pending proposition all night. Did he want House's job? The responsibilities that came with it, the demands, the forces that in part created the very things that Foreman disliked about House? He wondered if he would become House all over again, or if he could take the department to new levels. He was overwhelmed with the idea of following in the footsteps of someone so gifted at his career, someone so miserable, so alone.

"I'd like to accept." He said, knowing he was most emphatically not Greg House.

Cuddy looked relieved, "Good. We've got a meeting scheduled for ten am in your conference room with your team, myself, Wilson, Chase, Cameron, Stacy and House's parents. I'd appreciate it if you would inform your team."

"Stacy?"

"He had a will." 

Foreman nodded his head, "We'll be there." It sounded odd to him to call the conference room and House's team, his own.

* * *

Stacy ducked her head into Wilson's office and found him sitting with his head in his hands, arms on his desk, eyes closed. He looked like hell.

"Are you OK?" she asked him.

He took a deep breath and looked up at her, folding his arms on his desk, "No."

She was slightly taken aback by his honest comment. She knew he was not OK, and would likely not be for some time, though she expected the charismatic doctor to put his best face forward or to at least mask just how much pain he was actually in. Though Wilson did neither and instead sat in his office looking tired and worn, profoundly affected by the loss of his best friend.

"Have you," she looked at him wondering to what depths House's death would affect Wilson, "Have you been drinking?"

"I had a single glass of cognac last night." Wilson conveniently neglected to mention the three vicodin since, "I'm just tired. Not sure what to do now, it's all so surreal. You know, we faced this possibility so many times with him and he always bounced back. I never really thought we'd lose him." Wilson licked his lips. They felt slightly numb.

"I'm heading to the conference room, care to join me?"

Wilson stood up, "Sure."

* * *

As they approached the door to the conference room, Cuddy approached them. 

"Can I have a word with you?" Wilson asked her.

"Sure, we'll meet you inside, Stacy." Stacy nodded and headed into the conference room.

"Wilson, why don't you take the rest of the day off?" She was shocked by his appearance.

"I'm fine. Listen, I'd like to have my office moved."

Cuddy stared at him, he did not look like the James Wilson she knew, "Why?"

He glanced down, apparently very interested in what his shoes looked like, "Because that's where he died, I don't think I can conduct my day to day business from that office. As soon as I enter the room, I'm taken back to that moment."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks."

He opened the door for her and stepped inside the conference room, where everyone else was already seated.

Cuddy addressed everyone, "Stacy, you know doctors Wilson, Chase, Cameron and Foreman. I'd like you to meet doctors Hadley, Taub and Kutner, House's new team." Stacy nodded to each of them. "Before we get started, I'd like you to know that Dr. Foreman here has agreed to take on the head of the diagnostics position, and his team will remain the same."

Cameron offered her congratulations, Chase lightly punched him in the shoulder and Wilson nodded his head.

"OK, so we are here because House left a will and Stacy is the executor. Stacy." Cuddy nodded to Stacy.

"Good morning. I'm afraid Greg's parents won't be able to make it, they're on a cruise in Europe. They send their sympathies and asked that Dr. Wilson and I arrange the funeral in their absence." Cuddy pursed her lips and shook her head. Several of the others in the room looked down, not expecting to hear this news.

Stacy paused and began again, "For those who don't know me, Greg and I had a very close relationship and were nearly married but some things just weren't meant to be. When we last saw each other I encouraged him to create a will, and this is why we're here today."

Stacy proceeded to read the contents of House's will, item by item. He left his parents several photograph albums, a considerable amount of money, and his old car. He left Stacy his education diplomas, Steve McQueen (to which she laughed), and his piano (to which she cried).

"So we now come to Dr. Cuddy. Greg left you a personal note saying 'Cuddy, I leave you with my thigh master to help you with your double-wide, I never used it in rehab anyway." Cuddy laughed out loud, "He's also left the turntable and all his records and a hospital donation in the amount of one million dollars."

Cuddy gasped and shook her head, unbelieving in House's generosity. Wilson shook his head, "And he always borrowed money from me?"

"Cameron, he left his gameboy, magic 8 ball and pearl necklace that was his grandmother's." Cameron brushed the tears away from her eyes.

"Chase, you are to receive his bike. This is an addendum; I don't remember this being a part of the original will." Chase covered his mouth with his hand, completely unaware that House would leave him anything of any value, much less his beloved bike.

"Foreman, he left you all of his medical books, journals and medical supplies. He's left you his 'thinking ball', television set and his sneakers." This time it was Stacy who smiled as she glanced at the shoes Foreman was wearing.

Stacy continued on, "He's also left a personal note for Dr. Wilson, 'To Jimmy, my best friend. I bequeath my apartment and all of its contents (other than what is otherwise mentioned in this will). I give you my guitars, and all of my worldly possessions. Don't sell them on ebay.' Surprise, surprise." Wilson half smiled without looking up.

Stacy went on to say, "He's also said that any future member of his team not mentioned in this will is welcomed to whatever they'd like from his office. So I guess that would mean you," she said as she motioned to the three newest members of his team. She then finished reading the will which included a few random people not present and then concluded the meeting.

Kutner stood up and walked over to the whiteboard, picked it up and headed towards the conference room door, all the while struggling with the whiteboard, stand and the cane hanging from it.

"Hey, where are you going with that?" Foreman asked.

"Well, he said we could take anything we wanted from his office. So, I'm taking the whiteboard."

Cameron laughed out loud, Chase hung his head chuckling.

"Kutner, we still have work to do. We need the whiteboard, it's staying. Put it down." Foreman looked at Kutner, wondering how he would be able to work with such an apparent moron.

* * *

A short while later, Stacy sat in Cuddy's office, chatting, "He looks awful." 

"I noticed too. He's been drinking I think."

"He told me that he only had one drink last night." Stacy said. Cuddy sighed.

"I'll be heading back home in an hour or so. If you need any help with the funeral arrangements, let me know."

"Thanks Stacy, I'll see you Saturday."

"Ya, Saturday." Stacy hurried out of Cuddy's office, not wanting to cry in front of her, she held it together for as long as she could that morning and couldn't keep it in any longer.

* * *

Foreman stood in what was now his office, though it was still untouched since the day prior, complete with all of House's belongings. Several boxes sat in the far corner and he picked one up and began placing what once belonged to House in them. He separated the few things mentioned in the will and set them aside for those who would receive them. The other items were placed into boxes that would be sold at the Hospital's thrift store, with the proceeds earmarked for the free clinic. 

After a while, Foreman stood, stretched his arms and walked into the conference room. He saw Kutner removing House's cane from the whiteboard.

"What are you doing?"

"We have a patient, need the whiteboard." Kutner said.

"Leave the cane, it stays until after the funeral. It can hang off to the side." As often as Foreman and House butted heads, he still respected the man and felt it his duty to offer up this small gesture as a sign of respect for his former boss.

"Who's the patient?" Thirteen asked as she and Taub took seats at the conference table.

"Eight year old girl, wakes up every night throwing up but shows no symptoms during the day. No fever, no memory of the vomiting." Kutner said.

"Weird."

"Definitely. Differential diagnosis?" Foreman asked as he picked up the whiteboard marker.

Just as he turned towards the whiteboard to start writing, Wilson walked in through the conference room door, "House I need a consult on…" he stopped, shook his head as he looked around at Foreman and the others and said, "I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, I completely forgot. How could I forget? Excuse me." Wilson turned on his heel and headed back to his own office.

"OK folks, differential diagnosis?" Foreman asked again, with a sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

Just wanted to say thanks for all the reviews and the kind emails, they are much appreciated! I haven't finished this story and I keep flip flopping with how it will end. We'll see!

Chapter 5

Wilson woke to someone knocking on the front door. He walked to the door and cracked it open just a bit.

"I thought you were meeting Stacy at nine o'clock?" Cuddy asked.

Wilson opened the door to let her in, "Sorry, overslept."

Cuddy walked in to what was once House's apartment and looked around. Nothing had changed, except it looked a bit cleaner than it had in the past.

"I'll get dressed. There's coffee cake in the kitchen, help yourself."

Cuddy entered the kitchen and looked around, not being hungry she went out to the living room and sat down. As she sat on the couch, she noticed the large bag of vicodin pills. Next to it sat a bottle of cognac and two empty vicodin bottles. It seemed odd to her that Wilson had cleaned the whole apartment but left the two bottles and the glass untouched.

"Where's Amber?" she called out.

Wilson did not respond, maybe he couldn't hear her from the bathroom, she thought. Cuddy stood and walked over to the piano and lightly touched the keys. She sat down on the bench and played a simple tune. She had never told House she could play. She couldn't play half as well as he could though; she was always too embarrassed to even attempt a song in his presence.

"I didn't know you could play." Wilson said from the hallway.

"I don't, not really."

"Sounded pretty good to me."

"So, where's Amber."

Wilson sighed while averting his eyes, "We broke up."

"When did that happen?"

"The morning he passed. I never even told House."

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm not, I knew it was coming."

Cuddy changed the subject purposely, "So, are you ready to go?"

"I thought Stacy was going?"

"She's waiting out in the car, I wanted to tag along."

Wilson nodded his head and the two of them headed out to the car.

* * *

"Have you seen Cuddy this morning?" Cameron asked Chase and Foreman. Foreman sipped his coffee and shook his head.

Chase looked up from his French toast, "She and Wilson are making the funeral arrangements today."

Cameron closed her eyes briefly and nodded her head, "I can't believe I forgot."

"We all keep forgetting." Foreman admitted, "Yesterday, Wilson came in, nose in a patient's file and asked House for a consult. He looked up and apologized."

"He's taking it really hard." Cameron said.

"They were best friends for a long time. I can't imagine losing my best friend, especially so young." Chase said, staring at Cameron.

Taub and Thirteen walked over to the trio's table in the cafeteria and House's old team made room for the new one.

"Where's Kutner?" Chase asked.

"He's with our patient. We've been up most of the night." Taub responded, looking exhausted.

"Any results from the sleep lab?" Foreman asked.

"Well, she vomited multiple times during the night but when she woke up this morning, the symptoms were gone and she had no memory of it, exactly as her parents said. It's the oddest thing." Thirteen answered.

"I'm going to run a few tests, I'll meet you two and Kutner in the conference room at eleven." Foreman stood saying, "I'll see you later."

"Wait, you're going to run the tests?" Thirteen said.

"I have an idea I want to check out, hey I'm not House."

Chase smiled, remembering why Foreman left the previous year. It was true, he was not House. House hated dealing with patients directly. "Bye Foreman." He said.

* * *

"So, anything?" Taub asked Foreman later that morning.

"No, the results were inconclusive. I'd like to run a second sleep lab test tonight and compare the brain activity with last night's results."

"What are you thinking?"

"Epilepsy." Foreman poured himself a cup of coffee.

"It fits, that would account for why she can't remember any of it." Kutner said, mid yawn.

"Let's hope so, it's manageable." Foreman replied.

"Absence seizures usually have an involuntary response like chewing or swallowing." Thirteen had a note of doubt in her voice.

"True, but the vomiting appears to be involuntary. It could be a very unusual or rare response. Hadley, start her on Zarontin. I'll stay and run the sleep lab tonight. Kutner, go home. You look exhausted."

"I'm fine, I'll stay."

"Kutner, you may need to run a diagnostic tomorrow night in the sleep lab, so go home now and get some rest. We can handle it. Taub, you too." Foreman walked into his new office, set his coffee cup down and turned the computer on.

* * *

After a late lunch, Wilson stepped out of the elevator and walked into the conference room. He saw Foreman sitting at the desk and he entered the office, "I'm not used to seeing you sitting there."

Foreman looked up from the computer, "I'm not used to sitting here. Are the funeral arrangements set?"

"Service will be Saturday morning, viewing begins at nine am, then the service and then his body will be taken to the cemetery afterwards for a brief ceremony. His plot is under a willow tree. Cuddy thought he might like that." Foreman looked into Wilson's eyes and noticed how tired he seemed. Wilson continued, "I'm heading home. If anyone needs me, they can reach me on my cell phone. I won't be in tomorrow either. We wondered if you'd like to say anything at the funeral?"

Foreman thought for a moment, not sure what he would say about his former boss, but he'd think of something, "Sure."

"Thanks. He'd appreciate it, I think. "

"I'm not so sure of that."

"You know he didn't wear his heart on his sleeve."

Foreman nodded in agreement and watched as Wilson headed out the door.

* * *

Cuddy sat in her office, drained after the long morning spent arranging House's funeral; it was overwhelmingly depressing in so many ways. She was disgusted that his parents had left the task of arranging the funeral up to Stacy and Wilson. She knew the two could handle the arrangements just fine but out of a sense of duty, she wanted to go along and help out. She was glad she did, Wilson had been of little help, not saying hardly anything. She noted how difficult House's death was on him and it was taking its toll. At times, Wilson seemed out of it, distant and she wondered if he was still taking his antidepressant meds. It was she and Stacy who did most of the talking while choosing which casket, the plot and even the guest book, with Wilson merely tagging along and nodding his head in agreement when they came to a decision.

Afterwards, they ate lunch at a nearby café. Wilson ate next to nothing, and it was then that Cuddy told him to go home and take the next day off as well. Hopefully a little sleep would do him some good. Stacy dropped them both off at the hospital and now Cuddy sat in her empty office feeling completely drained from the week's events, but most especially from dealing with her own guilt surrounding House's death and now Wilson's depression. She walked over to her couch and lay down, intending to take a nap herself before attacking the stack of papers piled high on her desk.

* * *

Wilson sat on the couch with his feet up, television on, while staring at his own prescription bottle. A lengthy and heart felt eulogy sat on the coffee table. He hadn't taken his own prescription in several days, in part because he had left it at Amber's, but also in part because he had been using the vicodin to numb his thoughts. He dropped one of the antidepressants out into his palm and stared at it, knowing he should take it but reluctant to do so. He could understand now, why House had taken so much of the vicodin. It really did numb his mind.

He dropped the pill back into its bottle, sat back and sipped at his glass of bourbon. Bourbon did a good job of numbing his mind too, especially his fourth glass of it. He wondered how much more it would take to make him fall asleep, and then he remembered that the vicodin did a great job of that too. Wilson picked up a nearly empty bottle of vicodin, which sat next to his own prescription bottle that he had placed on the coffee table. He held it up and wondered how much would allow him to sleep through the night. One pill only lasted a few hours, at least that's what he thought he remembered. He was a bit light headed from the alcohol, particularly as he had not eaten much that day but he was fairly certain he remembered that correctly.

Wilson leaned back in his chair and dropped the remaining pills into his hand and stared at them. He tried to do the math in his head, thinking that if he had counted right, the pills should provide him with at least twelve hours of sleep. He then opened his own prescription and dropped two into his hand, figuring it wouldn't hurt to take them too. That sounded right, he thought. Or was he supposed to deduct an hour per pill? He wasn't sure that he was thinking clearly, though he felt like he had done the math right. There was math wasn't there? Yes, yes, there must be. Wilson convinced himself that he was right, despite the alcohol clouding his judgment, and he swallowed all of the pills at once, washing them down with the remaining bourbon in his glass. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, hoping it wouldn't be long before he was fast asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She knocked on his door, no answer. She knocked a little louder, knowing he was home, his car was parked out front. Again, no answer. This time she rang the door bell and called his name, "James? James, I know you're in there."

Amber became frustrated, thinking he was simply ignoring her. He certainly hadn't seemed himself since House died, but she was concerned he was drinking too much. She pounded on the door one last time, continuing to call out his name. Her frustration turned to fear. She hadn't known James for very long; he wouldn't try something stupid, would he? She turned the door knob, surprised to find it unlocked and barged into the apartment. A quick glance showed no signs of Wilson. She saw the bottles of alcohol on the coffee table and the bag of pills and shook her head, then walked around the couch to get a better look. It was then that she saw him, sprawled out on the floor. She grabbed his cell phone off of the coffee table and dialed 911.

"Dammit James, this is what I knew would happen. House was a bad influence on you, it wasn't enough that he had a death wish but now you too?" She waited for someone to answer her call, "Hello, yes I have an emergency. I need an ambulance asap for a drug overdose."

Amber then proceeded to provide the necessary information to the operator. She placed her ear to his chest and felt his pulse.

"Excuse me miss, if you could step aside please." A paramedic said moments later.

"His breathing rate is decreased, he's unconscious."

"Are you a doctor or something?" One of the paramedics asked sarcastically.

"Yes, and this is Dr. James Wilson."

"The oncologist?"

"Yes."

The sarcastic paramedic wiped the smirk off his face and set to work, "Do you know what he took?"

"My guess is these," she said as she handed him the bottles of vicodin and his antidepressant, "And a considerable amount of bourbon."

"How long has it been?"

"I don't know, I got here about seven minutes ago and found him like this."

"Didn't Princeton Plainsborrow just lose Dr. House?"

Amber pursed her lips, "Yes. James here was his best friend."

The sarcastic paramedic looked up at her and sighed, "Ok, let's move."

* * *

Amber followed the ambulance in her car, while trying to reach Cuddy with her cell phone. She called the hospital's main number and asked for her direct line. The phone rang repeatedly with no answer. Amber hung up and redialed the hospital, this time asking to speak with Dr. Foreman. He answered her call immediately.

"Foreman here."

"Dr. Foreman, this is Amber. James Wilson is on his way to Princeton Plainsborrow in an ambulance. I found him in House's apartment unconscious. An apparent drug overdose, maybe alcohol poisoning. We should be there in about two minutes. I can't reach Dr. Cuddy."

Foreman closed his eyes in disbelief, "OK, we'll meet you in the ER."

Foreman hung up and paged Cameron, "Cameron, Wilson's on his way in, in the ambulance with the ETA of one minute. He O.D.'d, I'll get Cuddy and meet you down there."

* * *

Cuddy was fast asleep in her office, in the midst of a nightmare. She kept replaying his death over and over and for some odd reason the phone in Wilson's office kept ringing and Foreman was saying her name over and over.

"Cuddy!"

Suddenly, she gasped, opened her eyes and found Foreman looming over her. "I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep. Why didn't you call?"

"We've tried calling but you didn't answer. It's Wilson, he overdosed and is in the ER. Cameron is working on him now. They brought him in unconscious with a slow breathing rate. They've pumped his stomach."

"Oh god, not again." Cuddy said as she hurried out of her office. "Do we know what he took?"

"Vicodin, seems he got into House's stash and he's drunk. They're running a tox screen to be certain."

The pair took the stairs to the ER, and as they rounded the corner they nearly knocked Cameron down.

"How is he?"

"He's awake, somewhat combative. Drunk. His breathing is still slowed though it's becoming more regular."

Cuddy pulled the curtain back, "Wilson. Wilson can you hear me?"

"Go aweee." Wilson said as he flung his arm erratically.

"No, I need to know what you took."

Wilson giggled, "Just a wittle apple juice and some pills. It's ok, I wanna sweep. Sweeep. No, slweep"

"You're drunk."

"Ya."

Cuddy frowned and turned towards Cameron, "Put him in a private room and put restraints on him, I don't want him hurting himself. Who found him?"

"Amber, she's in the waiting room." Cameron replied, nodding her head.

"I'll talk to her." Foreman said.

* * *

"Well, he's awake thanks to you."

"He left a box of his clothes at my place. If he hadn't, I would never have gone over there."

"He should be fine. We'll monitor him tonight, to make sure he's OK but we don't think he took enough meds to do any permanent damage."

Amber stood, "Thank you Dr. Foreman."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"He's going to be OK, right? I'm relieved but I also can't stay."

Foreman watched as she left, all the while thinking 'you bitch'.

* * *

Cuddy stood at Wilson's bedside the following morning. After pumping his stomach and administering charcoal, Wilson's breathing returned to normal and they believed they got most of the pills out of his system before they had a chance to fully absorb. Wilson opened his eyes and glanced up at Cuddy.

"Here." She said as she handed him a small container. He took it, turned his head aside and vomited into it.

"You'll be fine. We need to talk," and with that, she left his room.

* * *

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

"Honestly, it was not a suicide attempt. I was drunk and for some reason thought that I had it all figured out, that so many pills would give me so many hours of sleep. It was a horrible, horrible mistake."

"I know."

"Cuddy, look at me."

Cuddy looked up at Wilson as he sat in her office late the same day. She had spent her second sleepless night that week worrying about one of her doctors, one of her friends. It was nearly more than she could take, especially with the added stress of the approaching funeral the following day.

"You could have died."

"I know."

"I can't lose you too Wilson." Cuddy looked up at him with tears in her eyes, "It's just too much. What is this hospital coming to? Not to mention the sponsors calling in wondering if we're an upstanding hospital. It's all over the news, first with House and now with your overdose."

"I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say. I should never have taken the vicodin to begin with."

"No, you shouldn't have."

Wilson stared at Cuddy, not knowing what more he could say to win back her trust. He knew that he would not touch the vicodin again. He also knew that Cuddy had returned to the apartment and confiscated all of the vicodin and the alcohol while he recovered in hospital the evening prior.

"Are you sure you're up to giving the eulogy tomorrow?"

"Nothing can keep me from giving that eulogy."

"Death would have."

"I'm not dead yet." He said sarcastically.

"Don't try to sound like House."

"Sorry, I was trying to be funny."

"It didn't come off that way."

"I said I was sorry. Please don't shout, my head's killing me."

"OK."

"OK."

Wilson and Cuddy sat in silence in her office for a long time. Neither had the energy to go home, nor the desire. It would mean one step closer to tomorrow. Wilson stared out her window, watching the sun set.

"You got lucky. The combination of vicodin and antidepressants can be lethal."

"I know."

"You're lucky Amber found you before too much of it had penetrated your system."

"Amber found me?"

"She's the one who called the paramedics."

"And she left?"

Cuddy looked down at her hands, "Foreman said she left as soon as she heard you would be OK."

Wilson nodded his head, not really surprised. He looked at Cuddy, scratched his head a bit and asked, "Would you mind driving me home?"

"I planned on it." She said as she smiled up at him.

"You're too good to me."

"I know."

Wilson smiled to himself, remembering a similar conversation with House just a few days earlier.

"I hate to ask, but can we stop by the dry cleaners? I have to pick up my suit for tomorrow."

Cuddy sighed, "Yes."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Wait here." Cuddy pulled up in front of the dry cleaner's.

"I can get it." But before Wilson could even open his door, Cuddy was inside the cleaner's.

He was impressed with her strength. He knew she stayed strong this week, and yet she kept on going without any complaints.

"Thanks. I'll pay you back tomorrow." He said as she got back into the car.

"Don't worry about it."

"Cuddy."

"Wilson, buy me breakfast next week, OK?"

"OK."

He watched her out of the corner of his eye. She looked tired, worn out from the week's events and Wilson felt guilty that he was, in part, responsible. He wondered how long she would be able to hold it together before she had an inevitable melt down. He stared down at his hands, his left one black and blue from the iv, realizing that yesterday was ultimately his own melt down.

Cuddy parked her car in front of his apartment, House's apartment, "Are you going to be OK tonight?" She asked him.

Wilson sighed, leaned his head against the head rest and looked up at the building, "I don't want to go in there. All I think of is House when I'm in that apartment."

"You should pack things up and find a new place, too many memories at that one."

Wilson agreed by nodding his head.

"Why don't you get whatever you need for the night and for tomorrow, and you can sleep in my guest room tonight." Cuddy offered.

Wilson looked over at her and wondered if he should accept the offer. She looked tired and he didn't want to impose. Practically reading her mind, Cuddy looked at him, "It's no trouble Wilson."

"Thanks."

"Do you need any help?"

"No, but you're welcome to come in."

In the apartment, Wilson took a small bag and began filling it with clothes and toiletries. He noticed the coffee table had been cleaned up and the pills were gone.

"Thanks for cleaning up."

"No problem." She replied. "Stacy had the movers pick up the piano this morning. This room seems so much bigger without it."

"Huh, I didn't even notice when I walked in."

Cuddy walked into the bedroom and watched as Wilson packed his bag. "I thought we could pick up some Chinese take-out on the way to my place."

Wilson looked at her a bit sheepishly, "Be my guest but I think a few crackers is about all I can take."

"I'm sure, sorry. I wasn't thinking." She looked at the bed and picked up a pillow, hugging it. "I still can't believe he's gone. This room smells like House."

Wilson sat next to her on the edge of the bed, "I know. I can't sleep in here; I've been sleeping on the couch."

"Do you think he's at peace?"

"I hope so. He looked at peace afterwards."

"I hope that wherever he is, that he's not in any more pain." Cuddy placed the pillow back on the bed.

"Me too."

"I can't get that moment out of my mind. It just glares at me, when I'm awake, in my dreams, every time I see someone walking with a cane. Where did he go? I just don't understand how he could be here one second and gone the next."

Wilson put his arm around her, both with tears in their eyes, "Do you think he knew?"

"Knew what?" She asked.

"That he wasn't alone?"

"He was never alone, he had us. He had his team. He even had Chase and Cameron, even if he'd never admit it."

"Ya, but did he KNOW?"

Cuddy looked up at Wilson, unsure of how to answer. She had wondered the same thing countless times. "Yes, I think he did. I'd like to think he did anyway. He cared you know, he just couldn't say it."

Wilson nodded, unable to speak. He stood, took Cuddy by the hand and said, "Let's go. It's getting late."

* * *

Cuddy carried Wilson's things into her house and then met him in the kitchen. She had toast, he had crackers and they ate in silence. Afterwards, she cleaned the kitchen while he unpacked a few things. When he finished, he walked down the hallway to her bedroom and lightly knocked on her door.

"Come in Wilson, it's ok."

He walked into her room and looked around. Fresh lilacs stood on her dresser, mirroring the violet pattern on her comforter. There was a small stack of papers on a chair in the corner, with her briefcase next to it on the floor, and a cat tree next to the window nearest her bed.

"I didn't know you had a cat."

"Whiskers is here somewhere, you're not allergic are you?"

"No, not at all."

Cuddy emerged from her bathroom clad in a robe and large, rather goofy looking pink slippers. Wilson smirked at the slippers.

"What? Don't laugh, they're warm."

"Sorry."

She sat down on the edge of her bed and motioned for him to do the same, "Are you sure you're up to this tomorrow? With as much vicodin you've taken this week, you're likely going to experience a few detox symptoms."

"I'll deal with it. I'm not missing the funeral. I owe House that much."

"You don't owe House anything, he owed you."

"No he didn't, he was there for me just as much as I was for him, just in his sadistical kind of way." He said with a smile.

Cuddy smiled too, looking into Wilson's eyes. Without meaning to, she teared up again. Shaking her head, she turned her face away, too embarrassed to cry in front of Wilson.

"Cuddy, it's OK. There's nothing easy about this." He said as he wrapped his arm around her with, while using his other hand to gently turn her face towards his.

She tipped her chin down and he leaned his forehead, touching hers. They sat there for a few moments in silence. Cuddy looked up into his eyes, "Thank god you're OK."

"I'm fine."

She cupped his face in her hands, "Do you know how angry I am with you? Do you know what you put me through?"

Wilson said nothing. He knew that he had made a horrible mistake.

"Don't you ever do anything like that ever again."

"I won't."

"You better not." She said and without even realizing what she was doing, Cuddy kissed him on the mouth. It was not a peck between friends, but a kiss born out of a week of extreme lows, a week of losing one friend and nearly losing a second, a week of needing someone to hold her and tell her that things would be alright, a week spent wondering if she herself would be fortunate enough to die in the presence of her own friends, or if she would die alone. To her surprise, he kissed back with as much need as she had kissed him. She pulled away momentarily, slightly out of breath, "We shouldn't."

"I know." Wilson held her chin in his hands and kissed her again.


	8. Chapter 8

I thought I'd respond to a couple of reviews before the next chapter: House's heart attack just happened, he's not the healthiest guy around and given he's already had one infarction, it's not far fetched that a second could happen (not to mention his horrendous diet with all those Rueben sandwiches and chips). There's another reason but I can't say just what yet. And sorry for the paragraph thing. I like a lot of quick dialogue, hence the many paragraphs. There are considerably more proper paragraphs in most of this chapter. There's only one more chapter after this one.

Thanks for the reviews and thanks for reading!

Chapter 8

"Wilson" she whispered, "Wilson, wake up. We're going to be late."

He opened his eyes and looked over at Cuddy. She was leaning on her side, elbow draped over her pillow, head in her hand, staring back at him. It took him a moment to fully wake and the realization of where he was finally struck him.

"We nearly overslept. You can use the guest bathroom down the hall." She said as she climbed out of her bed and headed towards her own bathroom, "Wilson, hurry up."

He rubbed his eyes, still groggy from sleep, stomach still iffy from the day prior. He had a dull headache and at first thought the night had been merely a dream, but upon hearing her voice and waking in her bed, he knew it was real. Wilson walked to the guest bathroom, showered quickly and dressed in his nicest suit for the funeral. He wasn't sure what to say to Cuddy, or how she would respond given the night they spent together. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind as he finished brushing his teeth, glad that they were nearly late; there was no time for idle chit chat or time to ponder the goings on of the night before.

He met her in the kitchen as she grabbed an apple, "Do you want an apple? Toast?"

"No thanks, I'm not hungry."

"Ready then?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

* * *

They sat in silence on the way to the funeral home, neither knowing what to say or how to address their intimacy. Cuddy glared straight ahead, seemingly over focused on the simple task of driving across town on empty streets, early on a Saturday morning. Wilson focused more on keeping his stomach where it belonged, his mind on the task at hand and his tear ducts dry. He wasn't sure if the shaky feeling he was experiencing was due to his nerves and the stress of the day's events or to the absence of vicodin in his system.

Cuddy pulled into the parking lot and looked at Wilson. "Here we go." He nodded his head and the two of them exited her car. They stood still upon seeing House's parents, quite unexpectedly.

"Mr. and Mrs. House, I thought you weren't able to make it." Cuddy walked up to them, extending her hand in greeting.

Blythe shook her hand, "I couldn't stand the thought of not being here for my one and only son."

Cuddy looked at John who seemed to be averting his eyes. Parents aren't supposed to outlive their children. She wondered what he was thinking. She knew the relationship between House and his father had been a strained one, though she did not truly knowing the reason why. His mother seemed to be a genuinely kind lady, and his father seemed to be OK, if not somewhat tight lipped. She smiled at them and excused herself to meet with the funeral home's staff.

* * *

Wilson waited out front to meet Chase, Cameron, Foreman, Taub, Hadley and Kutner. The men would be pall bearers and it was his job to pass out the carnation corsages to each of them. Cameron, Hadley, Cuddy and House's parents would also wear a corsage. Wilson watched as House's old team arrived in Cameron's small sedan, including Foreman and moments later, his new team arrived in a second vehicle. Out stepped Taub, Hadley and Kutner, followed by Amber. He gave a brief nod and she returned the gesture. The five men wore nice suit jackets left unbuttoned, with a t-shirt similar to what House would have worn, underneath. Each wore a pair of sneakers too, all in tribute to House. It was Cameron's idea.

House would have been proud, well actually more likely shocked at the number of guests who appeared for his funeral. A great number of hospital staff was present, as well as many former patients. Stacy and Mark were there, as well as his one time band mate, Crandall. The weird night janitor was there, and surprisingly Andie, the now eleven year old girl living with cancer. Wilson recalled his comment to House when he treated her, about how she would outlive him. And so she did.

Wilson passed out the corsages and turned to see if it was time for the viewing to begin when he was approached by John House, "Dr. Wilson, I realize that the funeral staff has provided you with a sixth pall bearer. I know you had no idea I would be in attendance, but I would appreciate it if I could be the sixth pall bearer." Wilson looked up at him, nodded his head and handed him a corsage. He wondered what House would have thought. Moments later, a member of the funeral home staff opened the doors and the guests began filing into the viewing room.

* * *

Most folks took seats towards the back as they allowed House's parents to view his body first. His father stood stoically while his mother cried silently. Blythe shook as she cried, unable to stand the thought that her one and only child was gone. Shortly after they approached the casket, they turned and headed for a seat in the first row.

Chase, Cameron, Foreman, Kutner, Taub and Hadley approached the casket next, each passing by the head of the casket in single file, saying words of goodbye and thank you. As Kutner approached the casket, he stubbed his toe on the platform, forcing him to brace himself on the casket rather loudly with his hands to keep from falling. He looked around sheepishly, raising one hand in the air, in an 'I'm OK' sort of way. He turned towards House and whispered, "Sorry." The other fellows stifled chuckles, trying to be respectful.

Chase, Cameron and Foreman lingered longer than the newer fellows. Foreman murmured a thank you and mentioned that he wouldn't let him down. Cameron said nothing, but a steady stream of tears etched her face as she choked back sobs, and Chase leaned in and thanked House for the motorcycle, saying that he would take good care of her. They stood for an extended moment in silence as Chase whispered a prayer, and then the trio walked back to find seats next to the newer fellows, seated in the row behind House's parents.

Cuddy held back, not quite sure she was ready to say her last goodbye. She heaved a great sigh, as she closed her eyes, trying to drum up the courage it would take to walk up to the casket. Wilson took Cuddy's hand into his and looked into her eyes, hoping he could provide the strength they both needed to say farewell. They approached the casket together. Cuddy was in tears and Wilson was on the verge of crying himself, as they passed the beautiful floral arrangements standing ostentatiously on either side of the casket.

Wilson saw him first, and was dismayed to see that he was clean shaven. He thought House would have had a few choice words to say about that. He didn't look like House. There lay the empty shell of his cranky, curmudgeonly friend. Without fully understanding it, Wilson suddenly felt at ease; it was not at all what he expected to feel, instead he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Wherever his friend was, he was not in that coffin. His body lay there, unmoving, but Wilson was certain his soul was elsewhere. He wondered if he'd recognize House in the afterlife without the broken bodily form that House had hobbled around in for all those years. He wondered if he was happy.

Cuddy approached the casket, watching Wilson intently, unsure if she could maintain her calm should she look at House. Wilson looked almost relaxed; he no longer looked like he would cry, nor did he seem overly upset. Cuddy was perplexed by his composure. She gathered up her courage, closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath before turning to look at House. She too was disappointed to see that he no longer had his scruffy beard, the lack of it made him nearly unrecognizable. His eyes were closed, as she knew they would be, though she wished she could gaze into his blue eyes just one last time. She thought the room was overly quiet and wondered if Wilson could hear her heart pound as loudly as she could.

Cuddy leaned closer to House, surprised at her own bravery, and placed her hand on House's shoulder. She took a more intense look at his face; he looked different from the day she zipped up the body bag before sealing him inside the morgue's vault. His skin was no longer vibrant or soft, his eyes somewhat sunken in. His shoulder was of course hard and cold to the touch, but she left her hand there as she collected her thoughts. She had so much she wanted to say to him, so much that she wished she had said before he died. Cuddy still felt guilty for her actions the morning he passed, a guilt that would not dissipate for a long time to come.

"House," she whispered, "House, I just wanted to say…" She choked back a sob, composed herself and started again, this time with a little more bravery. "House…"


	9. Chapter 9

Here it is, the final chapter. Thanks for the reviews, much appreciated!

Chapter 9

"House," she said, "House, can you hear me?" Cuddy kept her hand on his shoulder.

"House. HOUSE!" Cuddy shook House by the shoulders, desperately trying to wake him, "Dammit House, wake up." He lay on a table inside one of the clinic's exam rooms, cane haphazardly thrown on the floor, one arm on his chest and the other hanging off the table.

"House? What the hell did you take?" Cuddy looked at him with concern.

He woke with a start, gasping for air. House looked around the room, somewhat dazed and then reached up to touch his chin, checking to be sure his beard was still in place. He sighed in relief, all the while with Cuddy looking at him in bewilderment. She could see the beads of cold sweat on his forehead, he was somewhat pale and both his pulse and breathing were rapid.

Wilson came running up to the exam room door, "I got the page, where is he? What happened? House? House, are you OK?"

"I'm not dead." House said. It was neither a question, nor a statement.

"House, what did you take?" Cuddy asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Your heart is beating a mile a minute, you're nearly out of breath, what's wrong?"

"I thought I was dead. I was dead. I was dead and you and…" House's eyes grew wide, "Did you sleep with Wilson?"

Cuddy was stunned by his response, "House! Wilson and I, uh no. You're not dead, you never were dead. How long have you been in here? Are you on acid?"

"I had a headache, I died of a heart attack, Kutner wanted the whiteboard, I gave Chase my bike. I saw Andie."

"House, Andie is alive. And what heart attack?" Wilson was having a hard time following House's train of thought.

"I know, but she was there. The night janitor was there, Stacy, Crandall, Amber, they were all there."

"And I suppose the scarecrow, the lion and the tin man too? What are you talking about House?" Wilson took his penlight out and tried to check House's pupils before House batted his hand away.

"My funeral."

"Your funeral?"

"I told you, I died of a heart attack."

"OK House, lay back. I want an EKG. Stay put." Cuddy left the clinic exam room to order the test.

"House, what were you doing in here?" Wilson asked.

"I must have dozed off." House reached up and gently touched his arm, in the same spot it had hurt in his dream. This time, there was no pain.

"House, it was nightmare. You were never dead. Is there something wrong with your arm?"

"Arm's fine. Are you still on your antidepressants?"

Wilson looked taken aback, "Why?"

"Just checking. And Amber, are you still living with her?"

"House."

"Well, are you?"

Wilson pursed his lips, "Not that it's any of your business, but yes I'm still taking my antidepressants and yes, I'm still with Amber. It's only been a couple of hours since you saw her drop me off this morning."

"Good."

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Fine. No headache even."

* * *

"EKG's normal, breathing is normal, pulse is fine. House, I still think you should go home, take the rest of the afternoon off today." Cuddy handed the chart to him.

"No."

"No? Why not?"

"I don't want to die alone."

"House, you're not dying today or any time soon. Your heart's in good shape, your mind on the other hand…" Wilson cracked a smile.

"Shut up, you try living through your own death."

"Fine, if you're not going home at least take it easy in your office." Cuddy shook her head.

"I never thought I'd hear those words out of your mouth."

"That makes two of us. Honestly House, you need to start taking better care of yourself."

"I'm perfectly healthy, Wilson just said so."

Cuddy frowned and headed out the door with Wilson in tow. As they stepped out into the hallway, House could hear her say, "It's like he doesn't even care."

"Hey, I heard that," he shouted, "I care if the dean of medicine and the boy wonder oncologist sleep together over my dead body." Wilson rolled his eyes and Cuddy's mouth dropped open, neither quite understood what he was getting at.

* * *

"Sure, not a problem." Foreman was on the phone as House as he walked into the conference room.

"Tell Cuddy I don't need a babysitter."

Foreman frowned, "Yes, that was him. OK, will do." Foreman hung up the phone and looked up at House, "She said to tell you that you're to sit in your recliner with your feet up or it's extra clinic duty for a month."

"I don't negotiate with terrorists." House pulled up a chair at the conference table, sat in it and put his feet up on the chair next to him, "Happy now? So, who's the patient? Wait, let me guess, a little brat puking her brains out at night without any recollection of it during the day?"

"Good try, taking classes in mental telepathy? You got ripped off. Try a fifty year old man with blood in his urine, heart palpitations and the fun part: dementia."

House smirked, "It was worth a shot." He turned his attention to the other three fellows sitting at the conference room, "Kutner, under no circumstances are you allowed to take the whiteboard upon my death. And you're not allowed anywhere near my coffin either. Got it?"

"Uh, sure. Expecting to die any time soon?" Kutner looked perplexed.

"Nope, you guys are stuck with me. Differential diagnosis, go."

* * *

His fellows were soon off to run tests. House sat behind his desk and looked around, everything seemed normal and in its place. He picked up the magic 8 ball and asked, "It was just a nightmare, right?" He shook the ball and turned it upside down, "You may rely on it."

The end.


	10. Follow Up

Wow! Thanks for all the kind words, I thought I'd post a little follow up. I struggled with whether or not it would be House's dream, Wilson's dream or if it even was a dream (but I couldn't bring myself to kill House). I'm not very happy with the last chapter, to be honest. It didn't turn out as I had intended and it feels a bit rushed to me. I'm thinking about writing an alternate ending or two for this story, just to play with it a bit more. So this story may not be done just yet.

I chose this particular ending because I wanted the reader to realize that all of it had come from House's egotistical imagination. Of course he would think it big of himself to give his motorcycle to Chase, and that Cameron would be a blubbering mess over his death. And of course he would expect that Cuddy had deep rooted feelings for him (who knows, maybe she does) and that she would blame herself for his death, and he absolutely would think that Wilson would completely fall apart without him, spiraling down the same vicodin path he had. And I thought it would be just so like House to think that he would be the reason Wilson and Cuddy hooked up, upon his untimely death, and of course he would have to tease them when he woke up.

House of course would think he could diagnose himself on his deathbed, which he did when he said that it wasn't the flu. And he would imagine all of those people showing up for his funeral, so glum and sad at the loss of his brilliant life.

I tinkered with the idea that the vomiting case would be the case the new team was working on when he woke up from his dream but I thought that was a little too cheesy. It is an actual case, I saw it on Mystery Diagnosis a while back. I also tinkered with the idea that House would be changed by the dream and nearly wrote in a part telling Cuddy that he did care, without her soliciting such a response but I just couldn't do it. I really try not to change the characters and if the incident in 97 seconds didn't change him, I don't think this dream would either.

Anyway, it was fun to write, somewhat depressing in parts as I took a lot of the funeral bits from my own personal experience. So I hope to play around some with the ending; maybe something entirely new will crop up. Thanks much for the reviews!

-Carrie


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